The Only Ending We Have, TatexOC
by ALostWinchester
Summary: When Amber is brutally murdered on the steps of Murder House, she becomes a ghost with the others. Except one thing - she was a medium in life and now she has power like no one in the house. Can it distract her from Tate?
1. Chapter 1

If I had known my life was about to end, maybe I would have been a little less submissive to Billie Dean Howard. She was a bitter woman, with her blond hair always in place and her makeup always flawless as if to say 'fuck you' to the ghosts that plagued her life. Billie Dean was a medium, which by definition is 'somebody believed to transmit messages between living people and the spirits of the dead'. She was teaching me the part about transmitting messages to the living. I got all the post-mortem's and saw what she saw but she had this way with understanding the dead and transmitting that to the right party. That was not my forte and thus I was not yet a medium. I was just aware.

"That's the house." She told me as we rolled by a house in LA. I sat quietly in the passenger seat as she smoked. Billie Dean had explained it to me before, the fact that I was to prove myself to her by going into that house. If I was lying about being aware, that house would show her my true capabilities. However, first she was taking me to every sad sack of bones in town to see the devastation the dead left behind.

Which is exactly how I ended up running.

LA is full of nice areas but it's built on broken dreams and unfulfilled promises. Like every city, it's not safe, just more dangerous than most. So when the crook who had lost his dear granny decided he didn't want us to stay any longer, he chased us out the house, and concentrated his sights on me.

Not that it's important now but the guy was a fucking bear. He was fast too and I was just naturally slim – there was no athleticism about me. But when you're running for your life you don't stop.

I saw the house, the one I was to prove myself to in. I saw someone move inside and although I knew not one living person resided in there, it inspired hope.

Stupid hope.

I ran towards it and I didn't even make it to the door. That crazy bastard knocked me onto my face and stabbed my back with a nine-inch kitchen knife until I was dead. He was still at it after I finally died. From where I now stood on the steps of the house, looking down at my corpse and murderer, I saw Billie Jean pull up to the house in her car, meet my eyes through the window, place her hand to her chest in sorrow, and pull away.

"Shit." A girl breathed next to me. She was smoking, tilting her head back to keep the curtains of blond hair from her eyes.

"I agree." I replied, regardless of whether she was speaking to me or not.

"Are you okay?" she turned to face me –not my dead body, but my spirit form. I didn't really notice much more about her, I was transfixed on my murder as it unfolded before me, both mortified and fascinated by the sight.

"I'm being stabbed," I managed to drone, "what do you think?"

She leaned back to look at my back for me, "At least your shirt isn't stained forever."

I laughed, it wasn't funny but I automatically laughed, "Thanks." Maybe if I didn't laugh I would cry.

"What's your name?"

"Amber." I sighed, never taking my eyes of the psycho as he sat by me now and cried.

"I'm Violet."

"Want to kill him?" a new voice asked from behind us. I didn't turn as it came nearer, a clearly male if somewhat youthful voice. "Might as well: you're dead now."

"Fuck off, Tate." Another new voice appeared, this one female.

"Mom, this is Amber."

A caring hand rubbed my arm as though I looked cold, "Why don't you come inside Amber?"

"I'd rather stay here." I answered, still staring. Sirens were approaching. I liked to think Billie Dean had called them to me. Too late, but the gesture would have been nice. The guy either hadn't noticed or didn't want to run. Either way, I was happy to witness it.

The dead speakers stood with me for a few minutes before they left but I was there for hours; until my body was taken away in a black bag. That's when it hit me. As it hit me, I cried. I stayed like that for a week.


	2. Chapter 2

"Enough already." Someone whined from behind me. Another new voice, this one a woman's, "You're dead. Its not-"

She had made me angry and I willed her away. It was automatic; there was little thought or effort involved. The house doors opened, an unseen force pulled the body of the voice inside and slammed the doors shut behind it. I wasn't sure how to react. I knew that I was dead and that the house was dense with haunting spirits but I had never experienced any power before. I felt the after shock of it like pins and needles threatening on my skin, pin pricks dancing like electric shocks over my body. After an hour of eerie, paralysed silence, I heard laughter. Part of me wanted to find the source of the laughter. The other part wanted me to resume crying over my demise.

I decided I had found the source after walking along the hall and around each room below the attic. I stared up at the chord for several minutes and finally followed the drop-down stairs to the attic. A red base ball rolled toward me gently and I caught it before it fell over the edge. Then the moving of a chain caught my attention and something like nothing I have ever seen before came out of the shadows at me: unkempt black hair, swollen skin, bad teeth and long arms clapping. It was saying something, slurring more like, but I couldn't really hear over my own cry of surprise. Then it just stood clapping and beckoning with his hands for me to come towards him. I wanted to believe it beckoned to something else but I was sadly confident it shouted on me. I shut up and listened to what he was saying,

"Play with me."

I think. So I looked to the ball I had caught and passed it forward. He stopped clapping, sat down on the floor and caught it, contented. He passed it back and I ventured into the attic.

"So what's your name?" I asked after five long minutes of passing his ball back and forth. There was a certain calming effect washing over me as that ball rolled. I let go all of my thoughts and sagged into the peace provided by a ghost and a red baseball.

Of course, peace can't last. I started watching the person I was passing the ball to, gauging whether or not my fear of him was justified. He was scary looking, but have you ever heard of the Elephant man? My mum always said she thought she would have been his best friend. It was nice to be thinking of my mum as a memory and not envisioning her distress at my death, or wondering if she would ever come by the scene of the crime. And then – not to mention the chains he seemed bound by – was he a threat? I didn't know and I didn't want to find out, dead or alive.

"Boh." He said absently, evidently far more invested in the red baseball.

"What happened to you Boh?"

I'm not a medium, but with enough practice I would have been. I had the gift of sight and consciousness for the dead, but I lacked the finesse of helping them move on. All the same, I wasn't void communication skills. I started to think of the lessons Billie Dean had tried to teach me, of the way she could snap at me and make me feel unworthy and wholly insignificant. I'd spent less than two weeks with this woman, so the only opinion I really had of her was based on her impatience with me. As the ball rolled to me I thought about throwing it at her head.

The ball sped right up and made a loud clap as it hit my palm. Again, the pull of another force was effortless, but the dancing shocks over my skin didn't last as long this time. I looked upon a trembling, unsure Boh as he started to back up into the shadows. I lifted my finger to my lips and mimed an 'sh' sound at him before a voice said,

"My mum's boyfriend smothered him in his sleep."

I recognised that voice; '_Want to kill him?'_ I turned to look up at a young man, tall and hiding any definition of his shape inside a worn out hoodie and Nirvana top. He was weird looking, with dark brown eyes and a shaggy mop of blond hair. There was something appealing about him though, even as the bags under his eyes made the shadows cast by his brows more severe. I couldn't tell if I was afraid or annoyed by his hostility. I ignored it all, turned back to Boh and started to ask,

"Is that true?"

Only to find Boh was gone. I turned back around and stood to face Blondie.

"I'm –"

"Amber, I know." he interrupted.

I waited. He walked by me in what little space we had.

"I'm Tate." He said as he sat on a bed. I remained where I stood, placing a hand on a wooden beam above my head.

"And what happened to you Tate?"

He smirked at the ground before lifting his eyes to mine and saying ever so casually, "SWAT team shot me. A lot."

"A whole SWAT team?" I mused casually, "You must have been a bad boy. What did you do?"

He chewed his tongue, watching me. I liked to drop sexual flirtation amidst intrusive questions when I got the chance. It made people pause and let me really get a good look at them. Tate's general character was hard to read; all I read was that I had clearly aggravated him.

"Set Boh's murderer on fire and then I shot fifteen kids at my high school."

"Are they here with us?"

He scoffed, "You only stay here if you died on this land."

"And Boh died here."

He narrowed his eyes at me.

"Or rather," I continued, "There: where you're sitting."

"Are you some kind of murder story junkie?" he said, rising accusingly. I dropped my arms to my sides and placed my hands in my denim pockets as I stood against his advance.

"That's a lot of anger you have there for an easy guess." I squared my shoulders, folded my arms and met his dark gaze. He looked to me, back at the bed and to the shadow Boh had originally emerged from. I knew Boh had died there as if I had known it when it happened: as though I had heard the foot treads of another soul as they approached him, heard the echo of his struggle, like a dream or an inkling I had once denied to have. This was not new to me. Sometimes the residue of death stained areas and I picked that stain up.

"Yeah well, ghosts aren't known for their relaxed temperament." Tate started to walk away, "Watch your back in this house." He started descending the ladders. I watched the space he left behind for a long time and contemplated his words. I heard the ball. It hit my heel. How much time had passed?


	3. Chapter 3

I bent for it and smiled before seating myself on the ground and assuming a long game of pass. It possibly would never have ended unless I wasn't called for from below.

"Amber! Amb-"

"Yes?"

Her hair whipped around as she did, a grey woollen jumper slinking over her tiny frame. She looked almost child like but her eyes were framed heavily in black. She looked pissed off.

"That was fast. I thought you spent all of your time outside crying."

I smirked. She had been the one to tell me to shut up, and then got her ass hauled back inside for it. "I followed the sound of your voice." I lied. I had felt her demand toward me like a pull in my chest. I followed that tug without pausing to remark at the size of the house and its grandeur.

"Right. And you fired a metaphysical-cannon at me so fast I missed the cannon being there at all."

She was cynical in her sarcasm, and laced it with more passive aggression than my patience could bare. I have never been one to suffer fools gladly, and 'unnecessarily aggressive' falls into my definition of 'fool'. Being dead did not change me. I stuck my hands in the pockets of my decorative jeans. "What's your name, then, sweetheart?"

She chewed the inside of her left cheek. Hostility rising in her, I fixed my attention on a poker resting on the fireplace. I thought of the ball upstairs and readied myself to make this bitch more scared of me than she was obviously used to feeling. Or maybe it was a facade. Either way, she couldn't bully me.

"Hayden." She said it slowly, enticingly even, as though she were granting me gift.

"And what happened to you, Hayden?" I took a personal victory and skipping over any flourish or fancy in her name. She didn't notice. She was too busy scoffing and folding her arms.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Suit yourself. What did you call on me for?"

She moved her hand and revealed the knife. I knew I was dead, but I wasn't long dead. I had no desire to be stabbed. As I took a step back, she moved a step forward.

"You're dead, sweetie," she said it so sweetly; so consolingly but that didn't remove the knife in her claw, "there's nothing but the pain to fear."

"Hayden, go away." Violet ordered from the door frame. I turned to Violet and back to Hayden only Hayden was one. "Crazy bitch." Violet sighed as she approached me, "Are you alright?"

"Can you even call yourself alright after you die?"

That made her smile, a sigh of laughter accompanying it. "Come on, it's better not to walk around alone in this place."

"Why is that?" I asked, following her to the kitchen.

"Amber," another familiar voice; '_Fuck off, Tate'_, "You came into the house. How are you feeling?"

"Peachy. I'm sorry; I don't know your names." I looked to all three of them; Violet with her blond curtains and brown eyes; her mother in the white blouse and curly red locks, and an old maid with dyed ruby red hair and a bum eye.

"I'm Vivien, you've met Violet and this is Moira." Violet's mum said softly. "I'm so sorry for what happened to you."

And she meant it, her whole body sighed sorrow for me and her face was downturned just enough to reflect the genuine apology in her words.

"It's okay." I said, moving to the island and leaning on it. "We've all got to die some way, right?"

She smiled at me compassionately, "That's a healthy way of looking at it."

"So what happened to you guys?"

Violet walked to the back door and looked out the window like we weren't there. Vivien looked to Moira who came away from the sink.

"I was shot when the man of the house tried to rape me by his wife." Moira said, as though it hurt her deeply to admit. Her features strained and her already pale pallor paled. Tears welled in her eyes. Vivien placed a hand over the woman's arm supportively.

"I died giving birth and Violet accidentally swallowed too many pills." She looked over to her daughter but Violet was gone.

"It wasn't an accident, was it?" I clarified, sensing the truth like it was being screamed in my ear. I could sense the desolation and abandon like stomach ache and resettled in my chair. Vivien shook her head,

"She wasn't thinking straight it..."

"It was tragic." Moira finished for her. I nodded.

"A lot of that in here." I observed. "So why, if I am dead and safe from dying, do I have to be careful in this house?"

Moira returned to her business and Vivien leaned towards me, "This house brings out the worst in people."

I wanted to ask more but the sound of a baby crying sent a paralysing fear through me. All babies do. I have never shared the maternal instincts of my gender and clearly death hadn't changed that either. Vivien and Moira both evacuated the Kitchen to go to its source and I remained. Tate appeared, looking longingly at the spot Violet had occupied by the door.

"Did you make her do it?" I asked, tracing the unit with my ghost-fingers.

"Make who do what?"

"Make Violet kill herself?" I clarified for him, watching him intently. He shook with rage but his eyes filled.

"That's a good question." Someone added, leaning their elbows on the island next to me. He was a hansom, dark-haired man with sorrowful eyes and broad shoulders.

I turned to him and offered my hand, "Amber."

He took it and shook, "Ben. So Tate," we both turned to Tate, "You were about to answer Amber's question."

Tate snapped and shouted at Ben, "Fuck you, Ben. When Violet took all those pills I actually tried to save her. That one is on you."

Tate then slapped the counter with a wealth of rage and stormed off. I looked to Ben who held my gaze a second.

"I made a few mistakes..." he explained, "Violet took it all pretty hard."

His voice was like gravel when he was quieter. Violet reappeared to tell him,

"Not this again dad-"

"I know honey," he said and moved to embrace her. I felt the sickness of suicide and the guilt he felt toward her like a physical presence. I left them alone.


	4. Chapter 4

There's a lot of room for crying in a house full of ghosts. So I did and they kept on coming to console me or bark abuse at me. Either way they were trying to shut me up. So I banished them, again and again until only one nip of the tiny electric shocks irked me. I claimed a room for my own and shut the world out with my newly empowered will, until there was a knock.

"You can't stay in there forever."

That was funny because I damn well could. I laughed a maniacal laugh worthy of the greatest supervillains before responding, "Watch me, Moira."

"Amber we're worried about you." Vivien called. Her sincerity struck me hard in the throat and a knot grew within me too difficult to swallow.

"I know." I managed before saying to myself, "I can feel it seeping into the walls. Stop it."

"Amber, it doesn't have to be like this." Ben spoke. The Harmons were lovely but no amount of loveliness could dull my melancholy. I said nothing and hoped they would go away without my influence. They did. Good. However, some time later I knew Tate and Boh were along the hall, and I didn't acknowledge them until the thud of a red baseball hit the door to my space.

"What do you two want?" I called.

"To piss you off." Tate spat, tossing the ball harder at the door. It worked, I was angry. "You piss the rest of us off so it's only fair."

What the hell had I done? How did I piss people off by remaining locked away and sectioning myself from them?

Smack.

Thud. Gentler for Boh's throws.

Smack.

Thud.

Smack.

Smack.

I stood rapidly and moved rapidly through the space the door had been occupying. I'd blown it off.

With my anger.

Or my mind,

Whichever you prefer.

Boh was quickly gone yet Tate stood and stared me down, playing Chicken like I would back off. My fist connected with his jaw. He caught his fall against the wall and looked up at me with dazzling madness and surprise. I didn't stop though. I kicked the knee of his sticking out of his crumple, and smacked his head with my fist. He reached up to me and tugged my black tank top, taking the blows I rained upon him while slowly making his way to his feet. He shoved me against the wall and I stopped to catch my breath. Apparently being dead didn't break the habit of breathing.

That second cost me my upper hand of speed. He dragged me by the neck along the hall and tossed me over the banister. Of course, I didn't let go of my grip on him. We hit the ground together and he was more used to being a ghost than I was. I felt like I had been dropped two stories. He felt like he had to straddle me and bash my head into the wood.

"Surprise, surprise." I heard Hayden once he was done and I was immobile. Tate lifted a hand in a rude gesture and got off me to storm away. I sucked in a breath and Hayden walked a few cat-like steps towards me.

"Don't let him get to you." She advised, looking in Tate's direction. "It's exactly what he wants. He's a sociopath and he's responsible for more death in this house than his mother."

"You'll have to tell me that story some time." I commented, extending something like friendliness to her.

"It doesn't excuse him being a sociopath." she grunted and walked away.

"I don't know." I panted, exhilarated for a nice change, "I find it kind of a turn on."


	5. Chapter 5

I was at the front door, on the steps, watching nothing in particular; just looking for some peace in life. Or un-life.

"Stay away from Tate." Violet said. She sounded upset. I had known she stood behind me, her feelings tormented as she struggled to find the right words to say to me. At last I looked at her as she stood in the shadow of the door. Her eyes shone with unreleased tears.

"I tried that." I said to her, thinking of the sound of the ball hitting the now-broken door. "I tried to stay away from everyone. Then he started hitting a ball off the door between us. Is he always such an attention seeker?"

"I mean it." She said as though I hadn't uttered a word, "I heard what you said to Hayden earlier. Stay away from Tate."

I studied her for a long minute and turned away. I studied the contrast in the neighbourhood to the house. "What did he do to you?"

"You don't give a shit." She hissed at me.

"Why not?" I challenged, "Because I didn't ask for the benefit of my health."

She took a second before slouching over and sitting on the wall, defeated, "I liked Tate, but he did some stuff I can't let slide."

"Go on." I encouraged, rising and taking a seat next to her on the wall. She pulled out a cigarette, set it up and I accepted her offer for a drag before she carried on,

"He raped my mother, attacked my father with a mask on, killed a gay couple who lived here and shot up a school. He set a dude on fire!" she exclaimed with disbelief. Or disgust. The two are close relatives. All the time she spoke I didn't feel she was telling me the tale, but rather, saying it out loud. Each word was like a physical weight on its on and I felt the ground tremor as each one hit the floor.

"But it's the mother part that really gets to you," I suggested, "right?"

"I miss him sometimes." She said quietly as her eyes stared into some non-existent distance I wasn't privy to. "Then I remember what he's capable of."

"We've all got demons."

"But he _is_ a demon." She said angrily, taking me aback. The silence was pretty awkward for me. I've never set out to hurt or murder anyone but I was not a shining angel. I must have lost track of the length of that silence. Violet's curious tone startled me.

"Why'd that guy stab you death?"

I shrugged. "Because my life is one big cosmic joke."

"That bad, huh?"

"Yeah... Nothing distressing, but a lot of silly things that get you down. I used to self-harm but it made my family crazy so I gave that up. A shame really: it worked. As long as I drew blood the world seemed to leave me a lone."

I didn't really make sense, I know, but I wanted to see if she would ask questions. People who don't self-harm ask questions.

"Then what did you do? Drugs or something?"

Aha.

"No I just let myself get really busy. Then I got a lot of colds and exhaustion. Ever the hear the expression: you just can't win?"

She laughed, "Bummer. Well I was pretty screwed up when I took all those pills."

"You'd have to be." I shrugged, "It's done now. No use dwelling."

"Yeah, you end up screwed up as the ghosts in the house."

"Like who?" I laughed, sure the madness I sensed in the foundations of the house was legitimate, but curious as to the specifics.

"The really crazy ones mostly stick to the basement. But Travis is in there and he's okay."

"It seeps into the walls you know; that kind of insanity."

We didn't say anything for another long time. It was amiable and I felt like I should be honest with this kid,

"Look Violet, I don't want to make promises I can't keep. I gather I'm going to be here for ... ever, and... Well, I'm not a saint. I can stay away from Tate for years, I'm sure, and so could you but it's all pretty claustrophobic in there. You might find you forgive him out of plain exhaustion at being mad. You may not. Me? I'm a bit of a demon myself. I'm more concerned by the things people do directly to me than anything else. It's arrogant, I know but the curse of knowing who you are... Let's say I've done my time. I like you, so today I'm not lying. But tomorrow Tate might piss me off again and – as I'm dead – I have no intention to hold back fist."

Do you see what I mean about communication? I was yet to earn the title of medium in life, and that right there was why.

"He'll use it to fuck you up." She assured me. "Just be careful. He's not stupid."

She hopped off the wall, walked away and I remained. I thought about the things she had said and everything I had said. Were we truly ourselves? Or just shades? A certain colour of who we were. That might make me the more violent shade, Vivien the more mothering shade, Hayden the more manipulative shade. I wanted to believe I was still alive really, just stuck in a time trap. It was easier to fathom.


	6. Chapter 6

I spit up blood. It poured out of me like bile only without the burning up my throat. I could taste it. I've always enjoyed the taste of blood. I smiled and put my hand to my mouth and stared at the glittering red on my fingers. Then Tate's fist crushed my stomach again, and I sprayed the blood in my mouth over his face. This was our third boxing match.

"Tate!" Ben called, "You sick son of a bitch."

He picked Tate up by the t-shirt and dragged him away. Tate smiled at me as he went and I was reminded of evil clowns. I rolled my shoulder like it was a signal and he flipped Ben over his. They wrestled and I got myself to my feet, pulled Ben away from Tate, dropped him to the floor and kneeled over him with my fist poised to hurt him,

"Joining in, or tapping out?" I asked calmly. His face contorted,

"What?" he panted.

"Out." Tate decided for him and kicked me across the face. I spat out some teeth into my hand and looked up at Tate, on the verge of laughing.

"You bastard." I commented and swung my leg over Ben's body, into Tate's knee. He crumbled and I ran for the hall and hid behind a wall. Tate trudged through, wiping his own mouth of blood until I tossed my weight at him and we crashed into the wall.

"Enough!" Mrs Montgomery barked at us from the stairs. Like kids we faced her, side by side, still smiling and panting. I slapped him on the back of the head when she walked away from us and he pushed my face into the wall. The door opened, the realtor walked in and we made ourselves scarce.

"...real Tiffany fixtures..." she practically sang.

We watched them walk through the house, invisible to them.

"Want to scare them?" Tate suggested.

"Shouldn't we wait until they buy the house first?"

He shrugged, "Makes no difference to me. People just keep coming."

"Will we help them buy?"

"Then kill them." He smiled. I wondered if he was joking, "We should find out if we want them to stay first. We might not like them."

I laughed taking my insecurities concerning Tate in stride, "Were you a murderer before or after you died?"

He walked away. I sighed, "Suit yourself." and followed the realtor. It was nice to get a tour. No one had given me that yet. She had a funny way of convincing people to buy the place; she used a lot of insulting compliments and glossed over what I could recognise as tragedies. A lot of ghosts were watching. Vivien was standing, watching me once the realtor and her prospective buyers moved on.

"You've got blood all over your mouth." She said, wholly unimpressed by the sight.

"Sorry." I said, ducking my head and walking towards her, wiping the blood on my sleeve.

"That's better." She smiled, studying me, "You are a beautiful girl. You must have broken a lot of hearts in your time."

I did. In spectacular fashion. "Nah, not me."

"Maybe none you were aware of." She watched me straining to hear the living speak. It's easy for me to hear the dead but I've never managed to connect with the living in the same way. "Do you want to know the history of this house?"

I nodded. "I can feel the oppression and loss here, but I'm not psychic." But I am close.

"The tour will be outside in an hour. Meet me there."

"Tour?"

"In the street out front."

But her voice was a disembodied sound to me and she was off to a distant part of the building.


	7. Chapter 7

If I was a compassionate person, maybe I would have felt something for the people behind me, but I'm not. A small part of me wanted to cry for them but it was small and faint. I shrugged when Vivien was done talking over the Murder Tour. She placed a hand on my shoulder.

"There are sensitive souls in that house. Some have made peace with their fate, some are deeply depressed by it, and some of them are still very angry for whatever reason. You must be careful with what you do and what you say and who you trust."

I looked up at her for the first time in half an hour, "Do you mean Tate?"

"I know he's an attractive young man but-"

"Look, I am not attracted to him, but the more you all talk about it, think about it and warn me about it, the sooner something happens. And then it's on you. Jesus, I've been here five minutes..."

I started to walk away. Vivien appeared at the door before I reached it. I still wasn't used to residents being able to do that. "Four months." She corrected me. "And you have avoided dealing with-"

"Piss off!" I barked and pushed my way inside, reclaiming my room. I lay on its floor and forced all awareness of the others promptly out. I think I slept. Can the dead sleep? Or did I just lose the ability to feel time move around me as long as I remained still.

When Tate came in I didn't banish him. I remained where I was and waited to see what he would do. By this point in time I had sat up, tucked my knees into my chest, wrapped my arms around them and tilted my head to rest my cheek on my knees. Instead of boxing my ears, he sat behind me, his back against mine. I was pleasantly surprised and leaned against him as he leaned against me.

"I heard you shout at Vivien." He started. It was the most gently I had heard him speak. "What did she do?"

"Guess." I asked, wondering what he thought of her.

"She tried to be your mother."

I laughed. He didn't know my mother. I asked, "Does she do that to you?"

"She doesn't look at me. I can't blame her. But she does it to almost everyone else."

"It's nice of her, I guess."

We lapsed into silence while I contemplated asking about the full story of his rape-crime, until he broke it, "So why have you locked yourself in here again?"

"Because I can."

Silence again. I wanted to explain, I really did, but we were in a room alone together and that was suggestive to everyone out there. What bothered me about that was, I didn't care who I was with and when, but I didn't want to deal with a bunch of crazy accusing ghosts. At all. His presence made me nervous.

"What's your deal?" he asked, "I mean, you're not normal. I mean... we're not normal, but you blew a door off its hinges."

"You took your time asking that question - Hey, who fixed it?"

"Chad"

"I've not met him yet."

"You don't want to. He's a fag."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I found it funny. Tate laughed. As the itch of my foretold attraction to him gnawed a hole in my skull, I gave in to my desire to talk about it.

"Tate, there are individuals in this house that are under the impression I have feelings for you. I don't but if they don't stop talking like that I will."

I waited for him to ask me what I was even talking about – what with my inability to say anything plainly – but instead he shrugged, "So let's teach them a lesson."

Oh how simple he could make something seem.

"I shouldn't have to teach them a lesson." I reasoned, unsure where he was going with that line of thought.

"So what?"

"Are you talking about murder?"

"Why not?

My laughter was like a bark in its abruptness. It shattered our silence and I waited for Tate to tense up. He never did,

"I would love to kill someone," I confessed. Who wouldn't like to get away with murder just one? To know what it was like to knowingly end a life as strong or fragile as your own, "but I have to stay here with these people. I'd like to remain neutral."

"So, you don't like me?"

"I like kicking the shit out of you."

"Good. I love Violet. I'm not interested in anyone else."

He sounded so childlike in his sincerity. It was cute and reassuring to me, for I did not want an attraction to grow because of other people's talk. That's how my relationships had always happened. I never really liked my boyfriends and only realised this months into the courtship. My friends set me p all the time and they knew how to get it done. I sort of hated them for this. At least now they couldn't manipulate me. Silver lining and all that.

"Good." I replied to Tate. We leaned on each other until I suggested a game of knuckles. Have you ever seen your own bones before? It's awesome.


	8. Chapter 8

I was listening from the attic. To everything; eyes shut; hearing the ball roll and picking it up before it could get past me or hit my crossed legs: to Boh's chains; to Vivien Ben and Moira fawning over their baby on the first floor; to Mrs Montgomery arguing with her husband about the sight of Thadeus; to Travis and Hayden having sex: all through the house. But it was Tate and Violet's argument that really held my attention.

"You ruined my family! I died but that was my choice! You brought everything else here!"

"Bullshit! I didn't bring Hayden or-"

"You make me sick Tate –"

"How many times will I have to say I'm sorry? Because I'll do it! Violet! Violet!"

I knew he was kneeling now with a sore throat and I knew Violet was away in the bathroom to cry in the tub. I felt the comfort and pain she experienced there as though I were physically watching her sob.

"It gets you off, doesn't it?" Chad commented from the hall; the steps had been left open and he had been watching me through the door, "Listening to them argue."

"I would invite you to feel how wet it gets me if I didn't think you'd leave me like that." I smirked blindly down at him, eyes never opening.

"You're disgusting."

"And you make incorrect assumptions."

"Oh?"

"First, you assume I like hearing Violet and Tate argue. Second, you assume I'm serious when invite you to touch me."

"And you talk like you're in denial. My husband likes violence in sex. All you and the psychopath are missing is the sex."

I laughed, invigorated by our conversation. People often cautioned me to stay away from Tate and here was Chad, talking as if I was a foolish lover deserving of mockery. Any change of pace when you're dead is invigorating, I guess, "You're right, but you put too much weight on sex. It makes sense though, considering the lead-up to your death and the way Patrick treats you now." I had learned their story. Vivien had politely told me of their first Halloween together, before she was dead, "But like Violet and Tate, I wish you two would also get over it. Every ghost in this house is a glutton for punishment."

"And yet," he said as Tate appeared in the hall, then walked away himself and said no more. As much as his words felt like a cliff-hanger, I understood him clearly. I denied the implication access to my conscious thoughts Tate walked by the stairs and held my gaze. I saw a mixture of anger and sadness in his eyes, and part of me wanted to follow him to talk to him about it. A stronger part of me didn't want anyone else to be right. So I closed my eyes and concentrated on everyone else, and keeping the ball moving between Boh and myself.

I did not like Tate.


	9. Chapter 9

The twins were driving me crazy. They ran past me all through the house and snuck around to jump out and assault me since the frying pan incident, and sparked those cracker-buds at my heels. The frying pan incident may have involved Tate and I battling with frying pans, seeing the twins and play tag-team hide-and-seek to trap their heads in the pans in true cartoon slap-stick fashion. I could tell when they passed but not if they would toss those cracker things or not. They were not predictable and the brats did it on purpose. I chased them, tossed them out of rooms with my will when no one was around, and often locked them in the basement with a wound-up Thadeus. It was the only entertainment I was getting. Tate was ignoring me, and my aversion to babies kept me out of the make-believe happy family the Harmon's had fabricated. I joined in when I could to help get rid of ignorant new residents, but I couldn't stab them or really let myself go with their fragile forms like I could the ghosts.

And oh how I wanted to. Maybe it was the house, maybe it was being dead and having nothing to lose, but I couldn't think about much else.

As time passed I stopped joining in so much, and realised I missed Tate. He had become silent since his fight with Violet, unless of course he went to beg forgiveness. I tried to keep my senses out of it, but he was so pathetic and remorseful, and homicidal it was very hard to ignore. We didn't fight anymore either, but that's because I never saw him. And then Halloween came back around.

"Fuck this!" I shouted, demanding everyone convene in the empty living room with my will. I didn't care if they noticed – I was done being alone.

"Why...?" Vivien started, "How are we all here?"

"It's Halloween!" I continued regardless, "And every year we go our own ways and mope and feel sorry for ourselves and blah blah blah."

"So?" Tate asked from a corner I could barely see him from.

"So I love Halloween. When I leave, I dress up, help people toilet-paper houses, find a parties, walk a couple of idiot kids to the doors and pretend I'm alive. Who's in?"

They started to walk away.

"Really?" I continued, trying to hold back on the will-power, "We could have a bonfire and swim in ocean at the beach and get away from this hostility for a night."

"A fire could be fun." Violet admitted.

"Yes! It could!" I clung onto that glimmer of excitement she had, and rallied my troops. Violet, Ben, Vivien, even Chad and Patrick, the twins, Travis, and myself were going. I was excited. Violet and I were in the attic looking for anything we could make costumes out of with Ben and Vivien when I saw Tate make eye contact with me from downstairs. He jerked his head as an indication to follow him so I did, and we leaned on the rails of the house gate.

"I want to come out with all of you." He said solemnly.

"So come." I encouraged. He was nervous, fidgeting and peeling the paint.

"Violet..."

"Maybe if you stop chasing her, she'll come to you."

"I don't," he almost sobbed, "I don't think she will."

I slapped him, "It's one night outside. Set your hopes and dreams aside if you want to come out with us. Have a good night. It's your decision."

I left him with that, and went inside to assemble my pirate costume. I denied to myself that I felt hurt by his display of adoration for Violet. I didn't like him, I didn't, it was everyone else who thought that; not me.

As we waited for the group to gather at the door before we left to start our bonfire, the Harmo's glared at the stairs. I didn't follow their gaze in hopes they would leave it alone – I knew Tate stood there.

"Is he coming with us?" Vivien asked carefully. I spun on my heel like a good showman and spread my hands in an invitation.

"Tonight is not about what we have done, or even who we are." I announced calmly, "Tonight is about freedom and fire." They still glared I dropped my hands and sagged a little, "Come on, please can we put aside the shit for tonight?"

They all took a deep intake of breath, killed some of the hype we had felt before Vivien spoke up and went to the beach. I skipped ahead, dancing to no music in my pirate's outfit.

"Drink up me hearties, yo ho!" I sang with the twins. Then I danced around the fire to the clapping of Travis and Violet. Travis caught me and we skipped in a circle, arms hooked at the elbows. I let him go and he hooked in Violet. I twirled into the sand and sat watching the flames.

"Hypnotises you, doesn't it?" I commented to Tate as he stood next to me.

"Not as long as she's here." He whined. So I punched his knee, making him sit and passed him my beer.

"Cheer the fuck up." I ordered.

"Will you stop it?" He moaned. "I don't want to cheer up. I want to be with her."

He would have carried on but I got up and walked away to demand a dance from Ben who wouldn't stop kissing his wife. At some point Tate left. We had fun regardless and by the time we got back, we had our arms around each other (except the twins – they're way too annoying) and we were laughing and reminiscing. The house quietened us all though; back to the norm: back to our dooms.

I was watching the Halloween decorations come down from the others houses on the street from the front window. I was sad to know Christmas was coming. I hated Christmas. It brought out a need to lie from people. I didn't want lies, I wanted the truth and Christmas does not come with Truth.

"I'm sorry." Tate said, making me jump.

"You will be!"

"Sorry for scaring you." He took a ledge of the window, "And sorry for the beach fire."

"Why are you saying sorry to me? I didn't let you bring me down with you."

"Can you just accept an apology?"

I smiled. I liked pissing him off. "I'll think about it. Do you want to play knuckles?"

"Can we talk?"

Odd, "Sure."

"I can't help the way I," he sighed, obviously struggling with his words, "feel. I was happy with her and I screwed it up before I could do anything about it."

"How does that work?"

"It's complicated."

"So simplify it for me." I said it forcefully, harsh and callous. He stared coldly for a long second before doing as I asked.

"Nora wanted a baby. I wanted to give her one. So when Vivien moved in I put on the suit and made it happen but that was before I got to know Violet and she changed me..."

He hung his head and cried. It was odd because his words sped up rapidly before falling away from him in despair. He cried for a while and I rested my hand on his shoulder for a bit. We stayed like that all through the realtor's tour. It was a new realtor. The last one gave up.

I felt sorry for Tate but I didn't for one second forgive him for his crimes. He was as fucked up as they come and although I was stable now, once upon a time I could relate. Like Tate, I didn't think I deserved happiness, I felt like a poison no one deserved to die of, I pushed people away. The difference between us was I was surrounded by love and good family. I had thus far gathered he had been surrounded by impatience and anger. What I got over, he never got the chance to. It was sad, but it was Tate who let his self fall. You've got to want to get better when it boils down to it.

And Tate didn't want to give up on Violet. Love is something I've never quite grasped. I've had many love me, but my affections are fleeting. After a time, I realise I'm acting the part of girl-friend instead of being a girlfriend. I always thought I'd find someone but I wasn't in a hurry, and now that I was dead, I wondered if it would bother me that I was alone. I didn't feel alone. I hadn't even felt horny (yet, if I ever would). So I really couldn't relate to Tate and Violet.

"We'll take it!"

Both our heads turned to the realtor and her buyers. I felt Tate's mood change and looked to see a smile.


	10. Chapter 10

There were so many options open to us – we'd done this before. I liked singing because people would search for me, unable to see me slip by them but hearing my voice so close and clearly. I liked laughing too. It helped to think about Thadeus chasing a pen-light for eruptions of laughter. Tate, on the other hand liked showing up and appearing normal, telling horror stories and encouraging people into the basement or any room we could paint a bloody scene. We had fought before, crashing into new ornaments and being hauled out of the front of the house by force, only to be at the back of the house again, invisible.

Once, Ben and Vivien turned up at the door to apologise for us as though we were their kids. I don't know why they bothered; they partook in the ejection of those tenants too. So this time we made sure they knew we were not somebody's kids.

The Kitchen, with the biggest knife, the second day of their arrival.

"Don't do this to me!" I shrieked, backing up from him in a panic. It wasn't hard to act out – nobody likes dying.

"Stop running away from me! You'll pay for what you did!" he growled.

"Don't do this! I didn't do anything wrong!"

"You bastardized everything that means something to me!"

"You're sick! You don't know what you're talking about."

And then the audience arrived. The wife, the husband, the readiness to tell us both to get out of their house until they saw the knife and tried to protect me. I ran to them for defence like they could provide it.

"I'm calling the cops." Husband says.

"Take it easy." Says the wife.

Then Tate breaks down and leans on the kitchen counter, knife resting limp under his palm. They approach cautiously and take the knife from him, comforting him. I wait until he's exposed and thrust my arm between the gap in the homeowners, my own knife in my hand, and plunge it into Tate's guts.

I've never done that before: driven a blade into him... or anyone else. Even dead I felt every sinew of his being tear and part. I got excited. So much so I had to laugh it out. There was no other choice. They turned to me and I backed to the hall, hand over my hysterical mouth. They ran for the phone. Tate appeared before them and the blood disappeared from their faces.

"Who are you trying to call?" he asked menacingly. Even I was a little scared.

She screamed: he froze. They left in an hour, Tate remained by the phone in case they tried to go near it, my laughter accompanied by nothing, but getting louder when they tried to use their mobile phones. They put them down obediently. We had the place to ourselves furnished. In our joy we decided to party, drinking her wine, smoking his cigars, playing their crap music loud and waiting to see who would appear from our miserable ghost family. No one did and for the first time I felt like we were really alone.

In what was once Tate's room, a bed was ready for guests that were now never to visit. We sat on it, drunk and giggling madly.

"I died in here." He said soberly.

"You did?" He had never shared that with me.

"For the life of me I can't remember it."

Ah, bad puns. I grinned amusedly and carried on the conversation,

"Why not?"

"I think I was high."

"Were you into that?"

"I think so. It's all pretty shit when I think back so I don't really do it. I like to think about Violet and you."

"Me? I thought you were too hung up on Violet to see past her."

"I miss her. A lot."

"I can see why; she's pretty cool."

"Does she ever talk about me?"

"I'm too afraid to ask. She's cagey about it now."

"What do you mean now?"

"She might have told me, had I not told her I'm not really interested in shunning people for eternity. We've got a long time ahead of us and I don't want to make it harder on myself."

"I hate that you do that."

"Do what?"

"That you're so cool."

"Cool?"

" You just... you make everything seem... weightless. Like it doesn't really matter if you don't want it to."

"What don't you want to matter?" I asked, drinking more, feeling it warm my insides as he ventured deeper into the truth with his words. I was savouring it before Christmas.

"Right now I wish I was okay with kissing you. But I love Violet."

I went cold fast. With fear or anticipation, I'm not sure, but I was struck in any case. I couldn't remain in denial. I tried, believe me, but so many things happened to me after he said those words – physically and emotionally – I was pretty helpless.

"I know." I added coolly, hiding my flood of reality well, "So be okay with it."

"What?"

"It won't stop you loving her, will it?"

"I don't know if I'm okay with this."

"Okay: I'm backing off now. Offer's there though."

He stood up and fidgeted. "How do you do that?"

He tried to sound angry but smiled.

"Shut up Tate and pick a path. Kiss me now, kiss me later, or kiss me never. Just stop fucking me about."

Surprised by my emotional outburst, I poured the last of the wine down my neck. I had to tilt my head back for a distance that cut him from my sight. When I returned my chin to a relaxed angle he was leaning over me, his lips parted as if waiting instruction, his legs astride mine and his arms around me in an arch, holding him up.

I didn't wait. I tested the water and pressed my lips gently to his. I groped with my heightened senses for the presence of others in the house but I found none. Maybe my drunk brain was killing my abilities. Still, I felt secure and secluded and forgot about everyone else as Tate's mouth moved with mine.

I dropped the bottle and he had already set the cigar aside. The smoke had filled the air and I felt comforted by the scent it carried. My hands moved over Tate's neck, across his back, as his moved over my chest, my waist, my legs. I obeyed as his knees moved between mine, moving forward forcefully so I straddled him where I lay. His hands fumbled with my jeans button for only a moment and his hand slipped expertly behind all garments. I sighed contentedly.

His lips made a trail of soft kisses over my neck until I couldn't contain the shivers of pleasure any longer. I tugged at his shirt and he sat up to pull it from himself.

Nom.

I straightened my back and lifted myself from the bed, still straddled around his legs. He reached for my top, pulling it from me and casting it aside. I couldn't feel cold in death so it wasn't the temperature that brought tips to my breasts through my bra. Thank God I died in a good bra. Once that was cast off as well, he leaned down to kiss me, and I arched my back like I was some kind of offering.

There was certain sense of detachment from it all. His hands firmly but gracefully moved over my skin and I reacted physically to it but emotionally... Well I felt different. I felt more like a smug predator than a lover.

Moreover I liked it.

Tate sighed as I pushed him back, neither of us dressed any longer, onto the bad and lowered myself on top of him. He couldn't wait until I was all the way down and thrust his hips up at me, his hands almost clawing my thighs and forcing me onto him. I moaned; a low rumbling sound that vibrated in my belly comfortingly. I moved against him, absently gracing my own skin, feeling how sensitive I was to touch alone with a tentative curiosity.

We picked up the pace and I leaned over him now, my breath in his ear making him writhe and sigh. He pressed his cheek against my neck and sucked my shoulder, nipping and biting devilishly. Heat rose within me, catching me off-guard and my muscles began to shudder. I knew Tate felt it too and he increased our pace slightly. I struggled to move with him, and he held me against him, in place as I gasped and he moaned until I pressed my fingers into his shoulders. I held on to him as I was wracked with pleasure. Time seemed to stand still.

I wondered if things would change afterwards. Of course, they did not. In that house, life is not fluid and unpredictable. It is rigid and repetitive. I remained a spectator, suspected by all those around me for it got harder to care about them knowing my power. As a ghost, though, power is only as frightening as pain. Some of them, like Tate and Boh, respected and disregarded my power. We got along. Others shied away from me. The cycles repeated, and I began to think we were in fact shades of our living selves; I was my murderous self, I realised. Such violence and horror filled my ghostly veins as it had filled my living veins. I had forgotten my rage. Hidden it. Now it was free, and yet trapped in that damn house for eternity. It's the only ending we, the ghosts of Murder House, had.


End file.
